Wings of Memes
by acceptmyusernamealready
Summary: *Teleports behind you* Pssh, nothing personnel, kid.


It was twelve thirty in the afternoon, and the sun was beating down without mercy. Anyone with a bit of common sense was in the shade or in their houses, panting and downing bottles of water, melting beneath the wrath of a summer which seemed determined to take all that was good in the world and set it on fucking fire.

Brent gasped as he collapsed on a park bench beneath the branches of a tree somehow standing strong amid the heat waves rising off the ground. He tore open the wrapper of the popsicle he'd just bought, sighing in relief upon seeing the frozen treat hadn't boiled off beneath the fury of the asshole thermonuclear fireball a hundred million kilometers away. The popsicle was an island of rock amidst the lava, an open window in a burning building, the ocean after a march across the desert. The ice-cream man had done a brisk business all that morning, standing comfortably beneath an awning with his chest full of ice and drinks, and this popsicle had been the last one.

Wringing sweat out of his shirt, Brent took the first lick, shuddering near-orgasmically as steam rolled off his tongue. Sweat dripped into his eyes, blinding and stinging them as he continued to lick near frantically, not giving a damn how he looked as long as he could cool off. The heavenly strawberry-mango flavor danced in his mouth, sending shivers up and down his spine. Oh, the sweet relief! Oh, the wonderful, wonderful coldness! Licking as hard and fast as he was, he barely noticed that the popsicle was halfway gone.

He heard a whooshing noise, a pop, and then, suddenly, his hands were empty. A moment passed before he started frantically wiping at his eyes and groping around on the ground for his treat. So what if it was covered in grass? He needed that shit like he needed oxygen, dammit! Scrabbling desperately, his hand touched something hard, and he grabbed on with all his might.

"Unhand me!" Something else, also hard, came down upon his head. He let go of the object and grasped for the injury, eyes finally clearing. Before him stood a horse, covered in armor, a man holding a hammer on its back looking down upon him with an utterly condescending expression. In his other hand, the man held Brent's popsicle.

"You-!"

Then, suddenly, the man was gone. Brent whipped his head around and saw him, halfway across the park, grabbing a half-eaten hot dog out of someone's hand. Then he was on the sidewalk, whisking away a bottle of soda, then taking a lollipop, stealing an ice cream cone, and relieving a man of his wallet.

"S-stop! What are you doing? How are you-"

The man loomed over Bent, one moment across the way and the next not an inch from his face. Brow furrowing, expression darkening, he growled in a voice which held the promise of kicked puppies and orphaned babies:

"Wings of Mercy procs at 50 percent health."

And then he was gone, a scream rising from somewhere else in the city accompanying the pop of teleportation. Brent blinked, dumbfounded. What in the name of all that was good and holy? Dumbly, he reached for the bottle in his backpack. He needed a drink, and in lieu of hard whisky, half a liter of water would do. He raised the drink to his lips and began to sip-

Only to see it an instant later in the hands of a green-haired woman riding a flying fucking horse.

"FUUUUU-"

* * *

 **A/N:** _Fuck you Frederick fuck you Palla fuck you Cain fuck you Faye what gives you the fucking right to come flying fucking in and fucking kill my fucking Nino after she fucking gets fucking Effie down to only half fucking health because Wary Fighter doesn't let her double because fucking reasons and fucking Olivia is out of fucking range oh look it's Olwen I'll just counter her with Nino_ **nope** _Frederick out of fucking nowhere teleports behind you nothing personnel kid FUCK YOU makes sandwich takes bite teleports and steals it because I forgot Palla has_ **Wings of Fucking Mercy** _mercy my ass more like fucking Wings of Prepare Your Fucking Anus cause this party don't stop 'til it bleeds_

 _I am saltier than french fries made in the Dead Sea, seasoned with the tears of babies and puppies._


End file.
